


Reunited in a Divided Heart

by live_with_love



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/live_with_love/pseuds/live_with_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Spoilers for chapter 479)</p>
<p>Kensei took some time immediately after his reenlistment in the Gotei to walk through his old division and think. Assaulted by old memories, would promises of the new be enough to convince him that this was worth it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunited in a Divided Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Introspection fic about Kensei's feelings on returning to his division. A little angst on his part. Hope you enjoy~

Kensei had been given the news at the same time as the other two, of course; a letter, held in the trembling had of some underling, had hardly seemed adequate after everything. He had very nearly ripped it to pieces in front of the kid, for all the pretty apologies it contained. More than half of the others were simply going to accept the pardon and move on with their lives… Did Kensei truly want to return and put himself through that again? He supposed there was really only one way to find out, to really _know_ what had happened to his division. Even after all this time, he was still far more invested in 9th than he had consciously known. So he answered that summons, squared his shoulders and strode up to that imposing office, where he was handed his ‘official’ pardon along with a brand new uniform. 

The clothing felt… wrong. He was too used to tighter, human designs. And pockets. He really missed pockets. The hakama swirled around his legs and threatened to pull him down off feet already complaining about being stuffed into those stupid sandals. He had already tripped on stairs _twice_. Funny how a kid from Rukongai, fresh faced and eager from the academy, had never noticed how uncomfortable this uniform was. Now an old hand, scarred from battle and much more besides, he had experienced life outside these confines and was already chomping at the bit. 

Was it _really_ a good idea to come back? 

The question still echoed in his mind no matter what he did to quiet it. Tachikaze was staying resolutely silent on this one; the tall, shadowy spirit never had said what was unnecessary. Kensei already knew the answer. Anything else by this point was only lying to himself. Though he had grown so used to hiding parts of himself that he wondered if he even knew his own mind anymore. 

Midnight had hidden the Seireitei in its dark cloak by the time Kensei had finally worked up the courage to return to his division. Padding softly along wooden floors - his feet thanked him for leaving those straw contraptions behind - everything looked… exactly the same. Outwardly, at the very least, time had not touched this place.

A hundred years might have well been a day for all the difference it had made to these buildings. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon, Kensei’s heart tore as ghosts long past leapt out of the shadows. There was Todou, working so hard in the training ring that his feet kicked up little puffs of dust every time he whirled into a new stance, determined to master every move. There was Kasaki belying his big brutish appearance as he tended flowers in the squad’s garden, every touch to each delicate petal kind and caring. There was Eishima, mouth set into a line of fierce concentration as he rushed to his captain’s office, feet slapping the wooden boards in his haste to bring the latest reports. His office.

Kensei turned the corner with trepidation settling heavy in his stomach and just stared at the door for several, long moments. It was hardly intimidating - just a standard issue office door. There wasn’t even a name plate to remind him of its former owner. (But then, he supposed that Tousen didn’t really need one.) Minutes passed in silence before he had the strength to raise his hand and move it those few inches to the handle. It was like pushing through thick and sticky mud rather than air, his hand reluctant to open this door to his past and allow more tortuous memories to seep out and poison his mind. But it had to be done.

Finally turning it the briefest amount and hearing a click, Kensei let out a burst of nervous laughter. It was locked. Of course it was locked. Rolling his eyes at his own nerves and immensely glad no-one had been around to see that, he fished the key out of the envelope Yama-ji had given him and fit it to the door. 

It swung open without a sound into the darkness beyond, bringing with it the smell of a room left to rot. Stepping over the threshold felt like stepping into enemy territory as Kensei flicked on the light and stared around at this once familiar room. 

The changes were minute, actually; Tousen had kept a lot of his furniture. But things were _wrong_. The desk was not next to the window anymore, where Kensei had once enjoyed working while watching the sun rise and fall. His bookshelf was gone along with several prized tomes he had collected from Rukongai with Lisa’s help. He would have to see if he could get those replaced. His wrought silver inkstand was missing (a gift from the squad on one of his birthdays) and the chairs he had always kept out for visitors had been removed.

It didn’t feel like his office at all as Kensei dropped heavily into his old chair, sorely missing the cushion that had once sat in it (bright orange; Mashiro’s idea as it was, after all, ‘the division’s colour!’) This was _Tousen’s_ office and it was going to be a long time before Kensei felt comfortable here again. He was half tempted to simply leave it closed up, bar the door and forget the memories, start afresh again in a new office in a new part of the barracks.

His eyes snapped up to the still open door as the sudden thumping of frantic footsteps interrupted his thoughts; he had assumed that everyone would have gone home by now. A dishevelled head of black hair was the first thing he saw as its owner skidded to a halt in the pool of light from the office door, shoulders heaving with the force of his pained gasps for breath from his flat out run, hands on his knees and back bent. Kensei watched with interest as the stranger lifted his head, eyes gliding over scars and tattoos both, taking them in until suddenly he froze every bit as much as the kid had, mid breath.

His gaze halted on the two black bold numbers emblazoned on a trembling cheek.

So. This was him, was it? This lithe, thin man stood in the doorway to his office, shaking with what Kensei could only assume was exertion at running for this room when he saw the lights go on. Well it had probably been a shock to the poor kid, to see someone inside this office that had clearly not been opened since Tousen had defected. This was Mashiro’s replacement, the hardworking lieutenant he had been briefed on. All those reports and not once had someone thought it important to mention that it was the runt Kensei had saved all those years ago.

So here it was. The answer to his question staring him straight in the face and almost screaming, begging to be noticed. Why was Kensei here? To clean out the cobwebs of the old. To protect the next generation. It was a funny twist of fate that had given him this child as a subordinate; the last thing of worth he had done in Soul Society had been to save his life. He had come full circle, it seemed, and he was damn well going to do his best by _his_ division.

Standing slowly from his chair, Kensei’s gaze met and held a watery one from the kid. His lips twitched up into a much gentler smile than last time as those tears threatened to run over, stepping towards this child-turned-man with a hand extended in friendship.

“Shuuhei… wasn’t it?”

Shuuhei stood and stared at this apparition, hoping with every fibre of his being that he would still be there when morning light rolled around to bathe his broken existence in the harsh clarity of day. It was almost too much, to not only see his hero but to have him _remember_ his name. Grabbing for the hand with a choked gasp and clinging like a drowning man, Shuuhei forcibly swallowed around the lump in his throat and blinked his eyes, determined to maintain _some_ measure of dignity around this man. Voice a little hoarse, he managed - finally - to break the expectant silence hanging between them;

“Yes… Muguruma-taichou.”

The new dawn looked brighter than it had in months.


End file.
